


Dragon Out of Time

by AvocadoLove



Category: Captain America (Movies), Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Steve Rogers is a dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvocadoLove/pseuds/AvocadoLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just before the height of World War II, a sickly dragonet is hatched in Brooklyn covert. His wings are too long and heavy to lift, he wheezes with every breath, and the only captain who will take him to harness is Peggy Carter. </p><p>(Temeraire fusion)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Harnessing

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the wonderful anon on the K_M who prompted: _Steve is, like Kulingile, a sickly dragonet expected to die who grows up big and impressively strong and Bucky or Peggy is his first captain who never gives up on him even when he's sickly. WWII or Napoleonic or modern era, don't care, dragon adventures please!_
> 
> I've been slowly filling it through the year, and had a blast the entire time.
> 
> Note: although the listed "pairing" is Peggy/Steve and Tony/Steve, obviously there's no inter-species sex. In the Temeraire universe, though, the Captain/Dragon relationship is so close it's practically a sexless marriage.

Slowly but surely, the dragonet became aware he was uncomfortable. His world had become a cramped, tight pressure that pressed in on all sides. The dragonet shifted, restless, trying to stretch, move, _breathe_.

An excited babble broke out around him, outside his universe. They were always talking, those voices. The dragonet liked to listen; especially of their stories and battles. There was a war on, and it was all very exciting. The dragonet sometimes fell asleep to it, and dreamed of fighting along with them.

"Say, the egg's really rocking now," said a deeper, sonorous voice above him. The one who often told the lewdest jokes, but who's stories of flight made the dragonet's heart soar. "Wake up fellas, you're going to miss the show."

"What? Now? It is! Damn," another voice, older, grumped.

"Births are hardly ever convenient, ain't they Colonel?"

"Middle of the night... you'd think it's sire was a damn Fleur-de-Nuit. Better round up the officers. And have your Captain wake the lady."

"Why?"

"You know why. This thing is half Long Wing. You never know what'll take to get it harnessed--oh, hello, Ma'am. Captain Barnes, you're here too, I see. You two have heard the news?"

"The egg, yes," said a light, lilting voice. "I've sent for a cow to be butchered. Whatever happens next, it shan't hurt to be prepared."

Something rumbled in the dragonet's middle. He'd heard the deeper voice speak about cows once or twice. But now the dragonet was interested with a primal, gnawing need. He shifted again to relieve it, but every inch of him was encased.

That wouldn't do.

He strained, pushed, uncoiling with all his might. The world snapped and cracked around him. The pressure he'd known since he first came aware of himself suddenly eased.

"Here it comes," someone said.  "It--Oh. Oh."

The world shattered around the dragonet, cold and startling. He fell onto the ground, bits of his shell clinging to his sticky hide.

He dragged his first breath of air and heard a rattle in his chest on the exhale. It burned, but it tasted like freedom.

Weakly, he raised his head, though it took all his strength.

"Hello," he said, blinking at the people who surrounded him. All fleshy faces and odd, drab coloring. My, the world was suddenly very big, and he felt... small.

He didn't notice that no one responded, and that, worse, a few had stepped back from him.

His feet were under him, which was fortunate. Shakily, he lifted his head and his wings stretched and _stretched_ \-- oh, that felt good. His wings were so heavy, though. He wanted to unfurl them all the way, but he was so tired from escaping his shell, and the air was cold and burned so in his throat. He took a heaving gulp of it all the same -- too big, too full all at once. He choked and coughed.

A huge brown dragon face extended downward into his field of view. "You're a bit shrimpy, even for a hatchling," the other dragon said, and poked him with the tip of his muzzle. "Can you even fly with those outsized wings of yours?"

"I sure can!" the dragonet piped, offended, though he wasn't certain why.  Only that he knew that _all_ dragonets could fly straight from the start.  He tried to show the other dragon, but his wings were heavy and so very long. His muscles burned as he strained to lift them.

The other voices belonging to the non-dragons murmured around him. He only caught bits and pieces.

"We know the dam was a Long Wing--"

"No venom spurs at all...."

"--and skinny as a starved dog. My God, it's ugly..."

"Of course those limey bastards would give us..."

"...runts happen, damn our luck..."

One, older, and wearing an impressive array of gleaming bits on his chest, stepped forward, reaching up to push the brown dragon's head aside. "Back up, Bucky. Well, gentlemen," he said turning to the rest of the people, "does anyone want to attempt the harness?"

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group.

Then one stepped forward. "I do."

The dragonet turned to the voice -- light and feminine. The one who had spoken about the cow. Now that he was out of the egg, he saw she was different from the others. She wore clothing less drab and also an impressive array of shiny metal buttons upon one jacket. Her lips were red, her hair a striking brown. She was beautiful.

The dragonet's heart gave a fluttering thump.

"Miss Carter, I know Captain Barnes has put you up for promotion, but this isn't the time for charity. If the dragonet's deformed... If he's suffering, the kindest thing--"

"Stuff it, Phillips," she said crisply, then strode past the older one to kneel next to the dragonet, smiling. One hand cupped under the dragonet's chin. His head felt so much lighter with help.

"Hello," she said quietly. Red, full lips curved into a smile. "I expect you're hungry."

"Yes." The word came out in a wheeze.

"Of course you are." She looked over her shoulder and gestured to one of the men, who quickly hurried off. She was someone who got things done. She turned back. "We will get you sorted straight away. My name is Peggy Carter."

The dragonet's tongue felt locked to the top of his mouth. He gazed at her in wonder, and knew he would follow this smart, commanding, pretty woman anywhere.

"He needs a name," Bucky, the other dragon, said.

For the first time, the woman seemed unsure.

 _She doesn't want me_ , the dragonet thought, with a spike of panic. _Just like the others._

But then Peggy smiled. Her thumb came to stroke the curve over his muzzle. "How about Steven? Steve for short. My father's name was Steven, and he grew up to be very strong, indeed."

"Steve," he said in an exhale that whistled at the end. "I like it."


	2. Part II: Brooklyn Covert

 

"Hmm," the head harness master said, extending a long piece of measuring tape from the base of Steve's tail to his mid-back. "Hmm." Then the harness master moved around to take in the length of Steve's narrow, bony chest. He nearly had to extend his arms out all the way. Two weeks of feeding had seen Steve's steady growth, though according to the veterinarians, it wasn't enough.  "Hmm."

Steve craned his neck over one shoulder to look, pleadingly, at Peggy. She stood off to the side, elegant fingers tapping a rhythm on her thigh. The smile she gave Steve was tight.

"Are you quite done, Mr. Stark?" she asked.

"Hmm," Howard Stark said again, this time taking a pinch of loose hide from Steve's middle and observing how it sagged back after he released it. "And you are sure the dam was a Long Wing? He carries none of the usual proportions--"

"Quite certain, seeing as the egg came from her." Peggy's voice was as dry as tinder.  "It's the sire's breed which is unknown."

"Ah yes, dragon trysts. If only we humans had it so easy." Howard Stark laughed, though Steve wasn't sure he caught the joke. He looked again at Peggy and saw her shake her head.

Stark paused in his measurements, his lips pursing as he gazed down closely at Steve's chest. "This is an unusual marking."

"It's my star," Steve told him shyly. The rest of his hide was gray, and according to everyone but Peggy and Bucky, rather washed out like dish soap, with the exception of muddy brown markings along his spine and head. The splash of grayish white on the chest, though, resembled nothing less than a five pointed star. The rest of Steve was all loose skin, thin bones, and translucent wings he still couldn't lift quite properly. The star, though, was beautiful.

Or at least, he thought so. In the right light.

The corner of Stark's mouth ticked up a little. "It certainly is, young ma--er--dragon." He gave Steve a rather heavy handed pat on the head.

Peggy's voice carried an edge to it now. "Is there anything you can do about his wings, Stark? Perhaps a harness to keep them from dragging along the ground."

Stark turned, flashing her a smile. "What's the use of constructing a harness if he's to grow out of it in a week, a month, a year? I must be able to gauge the proportions correctly!"

At that moment, Steve decided he liked Howard Stark. Hardly anyone ever spoke about Steve as if he would live to see a future. When Steve asked Peggy once when he'd be allowed to go to war, she had paused in the most terrible way before saying kindly that they would see.

The dragon veterinarians had all told her within Steve's hearing he wouldn't last the first week. Then, when he had, that he wouldn't last the month. Maybe they were right. He was gaining bulk, as all young dragons should, but his lungs didn't seem to be growing with him.

 Steve felt like he couldn't breathe sometimes, and Peggy often had to hold his head while he gasped and wheezed. He couldn't walk far -- his overlarge wings trailed behind him on the ground, where the too-thin scales bloodied. Flying was out of the question.

"Of course," Peggy said to Stark. "But until then, can you do something about his wings? If they could be rigged to keep out of his way--"

But Stark shook his head. "No, if they're folded too far inward--Well, I'll show you." Then, without asking Steve, he stepped to the side and took the edge of his right wing in hand.

Steve had tripled in size since he hatched, and the wings outpaced even that. Howard was careful as he folded the joints so that the entire tarp-like limb lay flat along Steve's spine like a normal dragon would carry their wings. But all the skin folded together in one place was heavy.

Steve tried not to shake with the effort of standing. He took a deep breath, but that was a mistake -- his chest felt constricted, like another breathing attack was coming on.

"Howard, that is quite enough!" Peggy snapped.

Steve shivered himself free from the man, nearly falling sideways against the wall of the laboratory, and making the building shiver. Stark released him and the wing sprang open again. The terrible pressure was gone, and Steve bent his head, his jaw parted to suck in air.

At once, Peggy was by Steve's side, her soft hands stroking his muzzle and the top of his head. It felt good, but it was also an embarrassment. No one else's captain needed them to coddle them. Still, Steve didn't pull away.

"The airsacks are underdeveloped, and the weight is too much, you see," Stark continued, as if nothing had happened at all. "It presses in on the lungs. No, best he continue holding those wings as what feels right to him." The salesman's smile he shot Steve was false -- even he knew that -- but his next words warmed him all through. "I'm sure he'll grow into them, naturally."

"Of course he will," Peggy said fiercely, then looked down at Steve. "Would you like something to eat, dear heart?"

His breathing hadn't quite evened out, but Steve's stomach replied in a rumble. He nudged her hands away, pulling his head back up. "Yes, please. Bucky said the herders brought in mutton? I'd like to try it."

If there was one thing healthy about Steve, it was his appetite. 

 

* * *

 

Howard Stark was swell, but next to Peggy, Bucky was Steve's favorite.

He was a Dakota -- an American mid-weight breed, though he looked huge to Steve. (Most did, even the purple courier-class Winchesters, though he might surpass their size soon.)  

Steve loved to watch Bucky take to the air, his sable and chocolate scales flashing in the Brooklyn covet sunshine. He often fed Steve on the sly, too, when no one would let Steve have anything else for fear he'd overstuff himself and gain too much weight for his underdeveloped lungs to support.

"Thought you were a goner, when you first hatched," Bucky told Steve one month after cracking shell. He'd returned to Steve's side from the feeding grounds with a freshly killed steer in his talons. Steve had watched him swoop and take it from above with such neat precision, he felt nearly green with envy. "But you're still alive, and James is happy again. So that makes you alright in my book, pal."

James Barnes was Bucky's captain. A man with the same color eyes as his dragon's scales.

Steve looked oddly at Bucky. "How did I make him happy?"

"Because James and Peggy were trying for an egg of their own," Bucky said, and split a thick haunch off the dead steer to toss it in Steve's direction. "Well, not a _real_ egg. A human egg. Only it wasn't taking for some reason, and they were both upset with each other all the time... but then you hatched, and they've forgotten all about it."

Steve wasn't sure what to think about that, only from what he'd heard, human eggs were a lot of work. He was glad Peggy hadn't gotten one yet, because that might take up her time and she'd have none for Steve, and... that thought was unworthy. He shook his head and bit into the tough haunch flesh.

He could hear the other dragons in the covert gossiping among themselves in the high cliffs. They mostly ignored Steve, or sent pitying glances his way when he was nearby. Bucky was the only one to stay a'ground with him.

"Want to try more exercises?" Bucky asked, after the last of his own steer disappeared down his gullet.

Steve didn't. They left him breathless and sore, but Bucky had been showing him breathing techniques used for flying, and now he could hold up everything but the tips of his over-large wings when he walked short distances. Otherwise they trailed behind him like awkward streamers. 

"Do you think I'll go to war?" Steve asked, struggling up to his feet.

"Sure." Bucky nudged him fully upright, showing Steve how to throw out his chest like a proper dragon. "You're gaining muscle here. Even if you never fly, I bet you could at least haul carts."

"I'll fly!" Steve protested.

Bucky dropped his jaw in an easy grin. "Yeah? Want to show me, short-stuff?"

Steve flapped and flapped in short bursts all through the afternoon. He'd learned to time physical efforts around when his chest felt tight and constricted, so as not to trigger an attack. And he ignored Bucky when the larger dragon told him to give it a rest. 

He _would_ fly one day. He'd carry his captain and crew, and go to war along with Bucky. He _would_.

 

* * *

 

The weather turned cool, then broke immediately into early winter. The cold irritated Steve's lungs -- one particularly harsh night, every breath was a struggle. He never recalled much about it, except that Bucky had wrapped himself around him as best he could to lend him warmth, and Peggy crouched by Steve's head, stroking him and begging him to breathe. Just _breathe_.

The veterinarians stood in concerned clusters, occasionally forcing vile concoctions down his throat, and listening with stethoscopes before shaking their heads sadly.

James Barnes, who stood by Peggy, punched one man in the nose who suggested a treatment called 'euthanasia', whatever that was.

Dawn broke, and finally Steve's chest eased. Bucky brought him a freshly killed lamb, which he pestered Steve into eating. 

Steve remained sick for days afterwards. He coughed, wet and racking, but that had been by far his worst night. Slowly, but surely, he recovered to his former strength, as weak as it was.

 

* * *

 

The day Bucky and James received their orders to join the war effort overseas was a bitter one.  Steve said his goodbyes to them on a miserable, windy day, and kept his eyes to the skies long after they passed out of sight.

Then he went to the feeding grounds alone. He had to request a cow brought to him by a grounds crew member -- he was too slow, too awkward to get something on his own. Useless.

Steve's best friend was going to war, and he was staying behind.

Peggy hadn't said so, but she had been James' First Lieutenant aboard Bucky. Steve knew he was keeping her from war, too.

He ate the freshly killed cow, then ambled slowly to the covert's single low-rise hill and started his wing exercises. Maybe he could find it in himself to take to the air today? But as hard as tried, his skinny, ungainly body stayed on the ground as if he were made of stone. 

Peggy usually spent nights in the officer quarters with James, but that evening she sat by Steve and read poetry to him by firelight. Steve curled his frame around her the best he could. Even though he was all scales and bones, she didn't complain.

 

* * *

 

Brooklyn was the largest covert in the North East, often hosting entire compliments of training dragons. Steve would spend long hours watching the wings drilling in formation.

The training master was a white marbled Parnassian who gave no quarter to those he thought were slacking off, and was as hard on the light-weight anglewings as he was the single fifty-ton Regal Copper.

Steve liked to imagine himself training along with them (Or once or twice, guiltily picturing himself leading the wings as formation leader), but as the days wore on, he lowered his ambitions. Maybe he might someday be able to join the ranks as a courier beast, delivering messages to the lines.  Something. Anything.

Though he was now several times the size of the purple Winchesters, and couriers were fast and agile, and he... he tripped over his over-large wings on the days even where he could breathe the easiest. 

None of the larger dragons talked to him aside from polite hellos, and never sought out his company. When not with Peggy, Steve mostly cuddled with the heaps of Winchesters and Chesapeakes.

One day, feeding with a group of Chesapeakes -- who were small scout-class dragons which loved to gossip among themselves in high, piping voices -- he was startled from a roar above.

The covert's one Regal Copper landed in the middle of their field, startling a half-dozen Chesapeaks into shrieking chaos, fluttering away and abandoning their half-eaten sheep.

The giant orange and red dragon peered around, blinking slowly. Regal Coppers were nearsighted up close. Then he focused on Steve. "Oh, it is you. He, who hatched from Lilly's last egg. The one who cannot fly."

"My name is Steve," he said, disapprovingly. "And you interrupted our meal. Haven't you already eaten?" The heavyweights and anyone who could spit acid or fire always ate first, as was their right.

"I am named Drax," the Regal Copper said, and grabbed for one of the abandoned sheep carcasses. "And yes, I could eat much more than this. My captain says I have several more tons to gain before my full growth. If you are hungry, you can get another."

"So can you, more easily than the dragons you stole from," Steve said sharply. "You shouldn't just take someone else's meal if you're-- Hey!"

Drax had flipped the stolen carcass up in the air, clearly meaning to catch it in one large gulp. Steve leapt forward to snatch it from him, but he overreached somehow, and ended up bowling straight into the larger dragon. It was like hitting a brick wall.

Drax made a rather embarrassing high sound in surprise. "That is most unsportsmanlike!" he exclaimed, and snapped at him.

Steve hissed and snapped back, his teeth scoring against scale.

The Regal Copper reared up to his full, impressive height, and slammed a taloned paw down, easily pinning Steve to the ground.

"You have much spirit for a small, weak dragon," Drax said, nicely enough, though he kept Steve pinned. "This is my sheep now because I say it is. There's no need to get upset about it--"

"You... you bully!" Steve tried to shove him off, his tail thrashing, but it was like trying to shake off a building.

The tip of Steve's tail smacked the Regal Copper upside the head. Drax roared again, and Steve wheezed as more weight pressed him down.

Their scuffle had been noted. From the side of his eye, he caught several humans running across the field to them. Somehow, Peggy had outrun Drax's captain, a recent transfer from the New Orleans covert.

Peggy ran right up to them and started tugging at one of the Regal Copper's large talons. "Let him up, you brute! Someone fetch an axe!"

"Cool yer heels, Carter," Drax's captain said. He whistled once, and Drax's head popped up. "What you doing there, big guy? Let the kid up."

Drax rumbled, but at once the terrible weight was lifted. It took two tries for Steve to regain his feet. He felt dizzy, but oddly enough a breathing attack hadn't come over him.

"What in the world happened?" Peggy demanded, looking between them.

"He took the Chesapeakes' meal, and I..." Steve looked around. The little dragons had vanished. Probably fled when the larger ones started their fight. Well, it didn't matter. What Drax had done was wrong.

"You need to control your little spitfire there," Drax's captain said, disapproving. "The littler ones don't challenge heavyweights for a reason."

"Piss off, Yondu," Peggy snapped.

"I should file a complaint--"

"See that you do," Peggy sniffed. She glared up at Drax, and stood in front of Steve as if prepared to take him on herself. Seeing her like that, Steve was torn between pride that she would, and shame that she felt she had to.

"Beating up on a dragon barely out of the shell. Feel good about yourself, do you?" Peggy told Drax with scorn.

"I did not injure him," the big dragon murmured, shifting from side-to-side. "He started it."

"And you finished it!" she snapped, then turned to touch the underside of Steve's muzzle. "Come along, dearest."

They walked a little way. Steve could keep up with her easily now, though it was only because his legs were much longer. "Will you get into trouble, Peggy?" he asked.

She laughed. "I'd like to see him try. I shouldn't speak badly of other captains, but Yondu... Well. It doesn't matter. Steve, are you quite alright?"

His shoulder where Drax had pressed on him felt bruised, but the growing shame was worse. "I'm fine," he muttered, dipping his head.

"Steve, what in the world were you thinking? He's four times your size."

He looked aside at her. "It wasn't right, him throwing around his weight. Just because he's bigger doesn't mean he should get whatever he wants."

Peggy was quiet for a long moment. "Well," she said, and brushed some dust from her already spotless trousers. "Next time you see something of that sort, I'd appreciate it if you came and told me instead of confronting the problem head on."

"By then, he would have eaten all the sheep," Steve grumbled. "I just wish... I wish I wasn't like this." He looked down at his skinny body. "It's not so much that I can't fly, though I _do_ want to fly. I just wish I could, I don't know... do what is right?"

The rest, he kept to himself: _I wish you could be my captain, properly, and I could protect you, instead of the other way around._

Peggy didn't speak. Sometimes she seemed to know what Steve was thinking, without him saying it. He looked away from her pitying expression.

"Well," she said at last. "You gave Drax one good bite, don't think I didn't see it. Not too bad for your first scrap. Though next time, lets save it for the Nazis, hmm?"

 

                                                            

* * *

The following week, Steve woke from a doze in a patch of wintery sunlight to see Pietro and his captain swoop in for a landing. Pietro was a grayling, a small courier weight, his gray scales a bright chrome to Steve's dishwater gray, and by all rumors the fastest of the messenger dragons.

He landed lightly next to a group of captains and first lieutenants who were discussing tactics around a table, set outside to take advantage of the warm day. Steve liked to park himself close enough to listen to them -- Peggy often encouraged his opinions, though the other captains didn't, but it wasn't as if Steve was welcome with the other dragons.

Not since the scuffle.

The shallow bite he'd given Drax had swelled painfully and kept the Regal Copper out of training for three days straight. It turned out Steve didn't have his dam's ability to spit acid, inherent to all Long Wings. Instead, he had mildly venomous saliva. It might be slightly useful in battle, if he were fit enough.

Instead, all he'd done was hurt a dragon of their own ranks. Steve had felt terrible all week, and there were rumblings from the higher ups of transferring Steve to the breeding grounds in upper Maine once he fully matured. He might be useless to the aerial corps, but perhaps he could help make some eggs that were not.

Thankfully, Peggy had put a stop to the talk, but Steve knew he was on thin ice. He'd done his best to stay out of trouble all week.

With that in mind, he raised his head and watched quietly as Pietro's captain dismounted and walked briskly over to the group. He then saluted and handed Peggy a letter. There was a distinct... hardness to his expression that Steve thought was odd.

Dispatches weren't uncommon, not in war, but the other captains seemed to realize that something was wrong, too. The group fell into a hush.

Peggy opened the letter, her red lacquered nails trembling. She scanned over it and made a soft sound.

At once, Steve forgot his promises to be good. He struggled to his feet and went to her, scattering startled captains. "Peggy, what is it? What's happened?"

"See now, Steve." Colonel Phillips tried to put himself between Steve and Peggy. "Give the lady a little air. She's all right--"

But Peggy had pressed her hand over her mouth, sinking to her knees. One elderly female captain caught her arm before she fell all the way, helping her down.

"Peggy!" Steve pushed past Phillips, and bent to sniff at her. He couldn't scent blood -- she wasn't injured, though she acted like she was. Crooning, he carefully nudged her, careful of his strength relative to hers. He was skinny and awkward, but he wasn't a hatchling anymore. "What is it?"

"It's James," Peggy said, because she would never lie to him. "He and Bucky were recently captured. They've... They've been made prisoners of war."

"What?" Steve reared back in shock. "No, no, Bucky's an ace fighter. He'd never allow--"

Peggy visibly gathered herself and stood to her feet with the other captains assistance. "Bucky's a valuable dragon, and they'll need James alive to control him. They'll be treated well, dearest." Her words were steady, though there were tears leaking from her eyes.

It felt like the world was tipping on its end. Bucky and James captured? Languishing in a Nazi prison? No. Impossible. Not Bucky. Not his friend. "We'll go," he told her. "We'll go and find them."

She shook her head, reaching up to soothe him. "No, dearest--"

He jerked back, breathing heavily. "I'll get on a ship. A dragon transport. I... I can knock down walls." He was strong enough for that, at least. "I have teeth and claws, and... I know I can't fly, but--"

"Steve, no. You're riling up for a fit. Please, calm yourself."

She was right, the ominous tightness in his chest was returning, but he didn't care. It had gotten better over the last couple weeks, but now his ribs stood taunt over his thin frame.

If Steve hadn't been so sickly, if he'd been capable of fighting, he might have been able to help. Instead he kept Peggy here, thousands of miles away from war. Chained to him by love and duty, but chained all the same.

Peggy touched the underside of his jaw as if to hold his head as she had done when he was little, but his muzzle was nearly the length of her now.

He turned from her, wheezing, and stumbled away.  Bucky and James were gone, and if Steve had been there he might have helped, might have been able to do something.

He couldn't move fast. It was like trying to suck air through a narrow tube. He staggered, fell to his haunches.

He struggled to his feet again, pushing through it, mouth agape.

Distantly, he heard Peggy yelling for help. Yelling at him, too, to lie down before he collapsed.

Steve swung his head back and forth, frustration and desire to help, to do something, anything -- to not be so damned _useless_ \-- that seemed too big for his skin. His wheezes turned to gasps, his claws rending deep furrows into the ground. The world around him tunneled, all dark at the edges and red in the middle.

"No," he growled, deep within the pit of his stomach. "No, we can't just--I can't sit here, Peggy. We have'ta help... I can't...."

Foam collected at the corners of his mouth, trailing behind as he staggered. He made it perhaps fifty yards before his shaking legs couldn't hold him anymore.

Some of the grounds keepers were coming to Peggy's aid, Howard at the head of the pack.

He should listen and lie down, but a new anger -- no, _determination_ borne by too long of sitting on the sidelines-- swelled within him. At himself, at his own piteous condition. Bucky and James were taken, and Steve couldn't--

They were right. All he was good for was the breeding grounds. He'd never go to war. He was too weak.

Let the attack take him. Peggy could be partnered with another dragon. Someone not useless.

He dragged in a hard wheeze, pushing overtaxed lungs past the point of burn until it became coughing agony.

A new bright pain blossomed on either side. Steve dragged in a breath, longer, deeper, than he ever had before, and something deep inside stretched. He took another breath and roared -- it was half a shriek, part scream -- as the pain tripled, rippling through him and under his skin.

His wings, always a large awkward hindrance, snapped to cocoon his body, as he dragged breath in after breath. Each one hurt, but each felt just that much easier.

He became aware that Peggy was calling his name, and his wings parted to see her standing a little way off, Howard Stark and a couple of the captain's were physically holding her back.

"Peggy?" he called out querulously, lowering his wings, and stood to his feet. It was easy.

Peggy broke free and ran to him, reaching. Then she hesitated, drawing back, stunned.

"Steve?" she asked, eyes wide.

"I can breathe." He dragged in a clear breath, as deep as he could, and it didn't hurt. It felt so good, like tons of rock he wasn't aware of had finally been lifted.

"His air sacks!" Howard Stark gave a whoop, running to them. "Would you look at the size of him? My god, his air sacks inflated!"

Steve didn't understand for a second. Then he turned his head and looked at the rest of his body. The pale gray scales that had always stuck to his ribs had rounded out around his middle and chest, like a normal dragon's should. It made him look larger -- much larger. Dragons were mostly air, after all. It was how they could lift off the ground.

And when did his legs become that large? Yes, they were the strongest part of him from having to walk everywhere, but... he'd never really looked that closely, never realized how thick the muscle had grown.

He could _breathe_ , and his formally gray washed scales glowed steel blue with health. The muddy brown streaks along his back and neck had lightened, too, to a russet red.

"Steve? Dearest?" The dust Steve had kicked up highlighted tear tracks down Peggy's face. "How do you feel?"

Wonderful. Light. Determined.

"Strong," Steve said. He looked to the sky and leapt without thinking. His long wings swept downwards, and his body, finally grown into the airsacks and inflated, lifted into the air.

It was as easy as breathing.


	3. Part III: War

 

Any ship with a deck large enough to transport a dragon Steve's size was slow moving, naturally ponderous. It took weeks for Steve and Peggy to cross the Atlantic.

Steve spent his mornings and evenings flying laps around and around the ship to build stamina. It should have been a long and boring process, and sometimes he yearned for action, to take part in great battles like the ones he'd heard about since cracking shell. But up in the air with Peggy, tasting the clouds for the first time, and learning air currents, he couldn't find it in his heart to be sore about all he'd missed until now. The only thing that could have made his days better was if Bucky were there with him.

He'd been grounded so long, his muscles had grown to carry him, and he'd faithfully kept up his flapping exercises that Bucky had drilled into him. He wasn't using the muscles in precisely the same way, but it gave him something to build from. His wings, which had hindered him so much before now caught the air beautifully -- their length and breadth easily keeping him aloft long past when other dragons would have faltered.

Afternoons were spent drilling flag signals, the theory of wing formations, and basic tactics. All things that Steve should have been taught from the start, but never had.

And he ate. Between the exercise, the general excitement, and finally being able to properly breathe, it seemed he was always hungry.

The dragon transport ship was well stocked for crew and a hungry young dragon alike, but Steve chewed steadily through the reserves. Some of the crew were put on fishing duty to supplement what they could. Steve didn't like the taste of fish -- a crunchy, salty swordfish or tuna couldn't hold a candle to a fresh and blood-hot steer, but it did fill his belly.

"You're coming into a late growth spurt, dearest," Peggy would tell him happily, using a cord to measure Steve from nose tip to tail, and the girth of his chest every morning. There were usually a few inches growth overnight, and for a beast his size it meant he was gaining hundreds of pounds of bulk per day.

Steve made a pleased rumbling sound and nudged her with his head.

Laughing, she scratched the tip of his nose. She was in high spirits, more apt to smile now that they were crossing the Atlantic.

"Long Wings measure sixty feet on average, and you're well past that," she added. "Whoever was your sire, he must have been prodigious."

"Really?" Steve looked down at himself in amazement. He had filled out, but in many ways he still saw himself as a small dragon. "Will I be as big as a Regal Copper?" he asked hopefully.

She laughed, popping his bubble, but it was a kind laugh. "No, but you are a heavyweight by any standard. You'll make close to twenty-eight tons, mark my words."

Some of the smaller Regal Coppers were thirty tons, so this pleased Steve greatly. 

Landfall was a few days away, and he was certain once they landed it would be only a matter of time before they rescued Bucky and Captain Barnes. Then they'd fight together and win the war, and all would be well.

 

* * *

 

Three months later

 

* * *

 

 

 

"That's it!" Peggy roared through the speaking trumpet, her voice heard even over the rolling cacophony of gunfire below. "DIVE! DIVE!"

Steve pulled his wings in and arrowed downward. He alone was left of the scant two dragon formation, a Yellow Reaper named Hodges having broken off to fight a dragon flying the enemy's swastika.

Underneath him, he could hardly tell the Allies from the Axis, so mixed had the front lines become over the last few hours of fighting. But Peggy's first lieutenant, Dugan, had sharp eyes and must have spotted their target.

Once some of the smoke cleared Steve spotted it as well -- a line of enemy tanks firing at a platoon of British soldiers, who'd gotten pinned down.

Steve sharpened the angle of his fall, heading right for them.

Peggy called out another order just as Steve reached the lowest point of his dive. The men in his belly rigging -- Morita and Jones -- cut away three of the heavy bombs. They fell away, and lightened, Steve snapped out his wings to cut his dive.

The strain hurt, but after all the practice he was up for it now. He beat his wings upward, getting clear as fire bloomed under him -- the bombs detonating right on target. The heated air helped him gain lift.

Several rumbles echoed below -- possibly as more tanks spotted and shot at him, but Steve was soon too high for the artillery to reach. He had been shot a month prior -- it hurt, and there was still a mark in his navy blue scales where the surgeon had to dig out the shrapnel.

Ahead, Hodges the Yellow Reaper was snapping and circling with a much larger, pale beast. A Petit Chevalier that had probably been with the French forces before they were overrun. The entire French Ariel corps had their captains taken, and their dragons pressed into Nazi service on pain of their captain's death. If this Chevalier failed today, his captain could possibly be executed as punishment.

Steve didn't let himself think about that as he came up under the Chevalier, or the horrifying possibility that one day he might be battling Bucky -- he'd come across some American and British dragons who'd been given the same choice: Serve the Axis, or watch their captains be hung before their eyes.

But three months in and there hadn't been any sign of Bucky or Captain Barnes. No matter how he and Peggy pressed. Meanwhile, there was the war on and their side was desperately short of aerial support.

Steve roared and struck the Chevalier hard, leaving long, shallow cuts along its belly. The Chevalier squealed in pain and broke away from Hodges, but not before Steve gave him one good bite. The effects wouldn't show at first, but his diluted Long Wing venom meant that the wounds would swell and become painful within hours. Not fatal, but fairly debilitating.

Somehow, the Chevalier lurched away. It swiped at Hodges, who was coming in for another pass, and dived where the Nazi tanks would cover it from any pursuit.

"'Bout time you got here," Hodges said to Steve, reaching up to paw away a streak of blood above his eye. "You sure took your time about it, didn't you?"

Until Steve had joined the ranks, Hodges had been the largest dragon left -- even though he was a middleweight at best, and he'd always seemed to resent Steve's presence.

Almost as soon as Steve and Peggy had arrived, they were put into action. More Allied dragons than just Bucky had been captured over the last months. Aside from the small scout and courier dragons, only he and Hodges were left to fight within one-hundred miles.

Being replaced as the largest and strongest dragon in the ranks had to be a great strain on the Yellow Reaper, so Steve always did his best to be above his sneers. "Returned as fast as I could," he said easily.

Hodges looked like he wanted to say more, but his own captain was calling his attention. Flags were being flown from the ground -- a signal from the generals for Steve to land and get refitted with more bombs. They'd been at this all day, and the thought of climbing upward once again so weighted down made Steve let out a gust of air.

It was hard to tell under the thick battle-harness, but he thought he felt Peggy pat his scales in sympathy. But there was nothing for it -- there was a war on, and men were dying below them. He had his strength for a reason.

The signal men on Hodges flashed that they'd hold altitude, discouraging strafing attacks on their lines until Steve returned.

"Go on, then," Hodges sneered. "Be a hero."

Steve twisted in air and flew obediently back to the western front lines, where the bombs were waiting.

 

* * *

 

It was Howard Stark who came up to him, what felt like an age later, after the battle was over and Steve had been finally allowed to eat and rest. Peggy usually stayed close after a battle, but when Steve had woken after a fitful nap, he found her gone with no explanation. He'd been trying not to fret, and Howard was a welcome distraction. 

Steve hadn't seen much of the harness master, for all that Howard had come over the Atlantic to help with the war. Harnesses and other dragon accruements were forever getting slashed and destroyed in war. Even with the Aerial Corps so depleted, he and his team were up to their ears in repairs.

"Ah, Steve, there you are!" Howard said expansively, with a lopsided grin. "I hear you're the toast of the town."

A part of Steve preened at this, but he ducked his head, hoping Hodges wouldn't somehow overhear and become more jealous. "I did my part, just like everyone else."

"Nonsense. From what I heard, your precision bombing saved quite a few necks today. In fact, that's why I've come. You're still growing, my boy. I'll need your measurements."

Steve blinked. "My harness fits fine--"

"I'll be the judge of that! Who is harness master here?"

Howard eyed the piles of small Winchesters and Graylings that had draped themselves over Steve's bulk. Ever since he'd gotten larger, the little ones liked to cuddle up to him for warmth. Steve didn't mind their company. He remembered how it was to be small.

"Perhaps," Howard said, with an odd emphasis to the words, "we should move to the edge of the camp so I can record your full length."

Steve caught Howard's meaning right away: He needed to talk to Steve, alone.

"Of course," Steve said and dislodged his friends to several sleepy protests. Cupping his pawhand, he let Howard sit in a cage of his claws, and lifted into the air. It only took him a few easy wing-flaps to come to a deserted meadow not too far away from the campsite. He had yet to tire of the easy strength in his body. It felt like a blessing.

To his surprise, Peggy was there as if waiting for him, her flying gear on, though none of their other crew were around.

After Steve landed, she reached up to touch his jaw. "I couldn't retrieve you myself. It would arouse suspicion. Thank you, Howard."

Howard slipped out of Steve's claws and stood. "No trouble, Captain Carter." Howard then turned and gave a friendly thump to Steve's ankle -- the highest point he could reach. "You keep her safe."

"Of course." He would _always_ keep Peggy safe. He turned to her.  "What's going on?"

Peggy pulled a piece of paper from an inner pocket and laid it flat on the ground. Even in the dim light, Steve could see something hard in her eyes. "Our spies have received word of where James and Bucky, and others may be kept. They're being held by a German offshoot group called HYDRA. I've retrieved a map of the area. Unfortunately, the generals--" She shook her head and took a deep breath, reaching up to stroke the softest part of Steve's muzzle. "They feel they shouldn't risk their last remaining dragons. I've been forbidden to go."

His heart picked up speed. "I don't care." 

"I know that." She looked up at him, serious. "If we go after them-- if we're caught, I'll be struck from the service."

"Then they'll have to remove both of us," Steve said firmly. "And they won't. I'll refuse another captain--"

He didn't get further than that because she threw her arms around his muzzle. "Oh Steve... You are too good to be mine."

"Nonsense." He rumbled, but pulled away to look over the clearing. There was some noise rising up from the military camp nearby. Perhaps they had already been missed.

Peggy must have heard the same. "Howard?" she asked, turning to him.

"I'll see what I can do to stall them." Howard nodded once and took off.

There were no more words. Steve was only wearing his light duty harness, but Peggy had been born and bred an Aviator. She mounted Steve's neck and as soon as he felt her settle he took into the air.

There may have been pursuit, but Steve was stronger, faster than anything anyone else could muster.

They were soon on their way.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve and Peggy flew through the night and slept during the day, when chances of being spotted by Allied or Axis scout patrol would be highest.  When they took to the air again as dusk came on, Steve poured on the speed until his wings and chest ached like when he had been small. He sometimes sensed Peggy wished him to slow, but she never asked aloud -- not when every wingbeat took them closer to Bucky and Captain Barnes.

The vast fields below were empty of cattle and sheep, and Steve was forced at last to fall upon a herd of grazing deer. They were winter thin, and he had to use an antler to pick the last of the stringy meat from his teeth. 

Several villages along the way were barren of people, as well. Peggy asked Steve to stop at one, and wouldn't speak of what she saw after she explored a small house, and took several items. Steve could smell rotting flesh, though.

As they drew closer to the spot marked on Peggy's map, it became clear where the cattle and sheep had gone. The dirt roads were churned beyond use by herds being driven to one place over the last few months. And out into the distance, rose an ancient stone and mortal castle, surrounded by much newer picket fences and hills.

They arrived at night, and it was fortunate the moon was high and full in a cloudless sky. But even landed at a distance, Steve could see the shapes of what must have been over a hundred sleeping dragons.

"I don't understand," Steve said. "Even if their captains are captured, why aren't any of them flying? It's not natural to be a'ground like that."

Peggy made a noise of distress. She had been looking at the castle through a set of binoculars. "They've been hobbled. See there, between their wings?"

She pointed to a large lump, its yellow and white scales the markings of a Yellow Reaper. Only the light from a moon let Steve spy what she meant: The Yellow Reaper carried its wings up oddly along its back, erect at the tips. Steve stared, and then saw a chain swinging between the two highest points, strung at the first finger-joint.

Then Steve recoiled in horror and sympathy as he recognized blood, old blood, where the hooks of the chains pierced into the dragon's wings. It could not fly. It could not even flap or stretch.

Peggy put a soft, comforting hand on Steve's muzzle. "It is an old Russian trick to hobble the beasts. They used to use it in the Neapolitan wars -- it is barbaric."

Steve didn't need to imagine how it felt to be earthbound. He knew.

But not all the dragons had been hobbled. There, at the pillar of the castle, like an oversized gargoyle, sat a beast of a dragon. He was fully Steve's own size or larger, lumpy, with straight black horns and a hide that glowed red even in the moonlight. He surveyed the grounds with yellow eyes. Then as Steve watched, the dragon tucked one head under his wing as if to sleep.

"He's called Red Skull," Peggy said, following his gaze. "We've had intel of his captain, Johann Schmidt. He heads the Nazi science division, calls it HYDRA." She glanced at Steve. "We need a way to free those dragons."

"They'll never leave without their captains."

Peggy nodded, then bit her lip. She crawled back from the edge of the hill and dug into her kit bag. She hefted it close, then withdrew a pair of oversize bolt cutters. They were large for her, so Steve delicately took them with the tips of his claws. He cocked his head. "Where did you get these?"

"From the villages." Meaning, she'd stolen them from the dead. But if they were to help free the dragons, Steve couldn't find it in himself to complain.

"Steve, we cannot simply barge in there. See if you can slip into the grounds and hold your wings up high; in the dark they may not notice you lack a chain. Free as many dragons as you can. I'll take care of the captains."

He jerked his head up. "You're going in without me?"

"Dearest, I was an officer long before you hatched. I shall be fine." She showed him a pistol she kept at her hip.

His head swayed back and forth in distress, but he could not see how they could both free the captains and the dragons unless they split up. "Be careful," he said. "Oh Peggy, please be careful."

She nodded then reached up to kiss him on the tip of his muzzle. "Go," she said. "Find Bucky. I'll be along in a bit."

It was the only thing she could have said that would have made him even consider leaving without her. Still, Steve was miserable as he watched her go, slipping away down off the hill to blend into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

 There were no fences to hold the captive dragons in--and why should there be? Dragons that could not take to the air had no way to find food on their own, even if they were willing to leave their captain behind.

Steve shucked off his harness and crept down the hill, keeping his wing tips unnaturally high over his head as if he were hobbled.

There were human handlers walking about, all armed with what look like clubs with a wickedly spiked mace attached to the top. Steve kept his movements slow, as if pained, and the handlers paid him no particular mind.

The captive dragons naturally gathered in clumps for warmth and companionship. Steve approached the first knot of dragons, and one or two raised their head listlessly at his arrival.

"Who are you?" a heavily muscled Parnassian challenged, digging his long foreclaws into the soil.

"I'm Steve, from the Allied forces. 101st aerial regiment," Steve replied in an undertone. This caused a few more dragons to perk up.

"You can call me Dum-Dum," the Parnassian said. "Everyone does, even my captain."

"Oh?" He blinked at the name, then shook his head. "My captain and I are here to mount a rescue."

"Just you?" demanded Dum-Dum, looking Steve up and down. "You're a fine big fellow, but you're a little young to be giving orders, and whatever about our own captains?"

Steve couldn't help but puff himself up a little in indignation. "My captain is springing yours right now, and I've got this." He held up the boltcutters.

That changed the other dragon's tune. Dum-Dum stood and allowed the terrible chains to be snipped free, and shuttered in relief when his wings finally rested at a proper angle. Instantly, the others in the group clamored to be freed as well, and it took a combined will of Steve and Dum-Dum to shush them. Despite his name, Dum-Dum seemed to be the default leader of this particular group.

"I'm looking for a friend," Steve said as he clipped the chains off of an Anglewing. "His name is Bucky, he's a Dakota."

Several of the other dragons exchanged looks.

"We know him," said the Anglewing. "He helped organize a breakout, but those damned krauts cottoned on and dragged out our captains, threatened to beat and hang them if we left. They took Bucky out beyond that rise." He jerked his head to a nearby hill. "That's where their doctors do experiments on us--no one ever comes back, I'm afraid."

No…

It took a few moments for Steve to realize the rumbling growl he was hearing came from his own throat. Even Dum-Dum had taken an alarmed step back.

"Here." Steve shoved the boltcutters in Dum-Dum's claws. "Free as many as you can. I'll be back with Bucky."

"Whoa there. You can't just expect to barge in. You'll need a distraction." Dum-Dum turned to a french Flamme-de-Gloire, one of the rare fire breathing breeds. "Jacques?"

"Oui?"

"If our captains are coming, they'll need the way lit for them, don't you think?"

Jacques' jaws parted, and smoked rolled out from between his teeth. "Oui."

Steve nodded and leapt into the air. He felt more than saw the bright explosion of flame bloom into being behind him, and the shouted crys of men and dragon alike.

It was lucky his hide was naturally dark blue. It let him blend in with the night air.

Guards milled around down below, stirred up by Jacques's flames, more dragons were making a racket, newly freed wings flapping to feed the fire.

Steve flew over the crest of the hill. A square of medical tents were set up in a valley between two dirt rises. And there, in the clear area lit by torches and lights, lay Bucky. He was chained so tight his belly touched ground, and several thick tubes ran fluids to and from the big vein in his neck.

Steve's heart caught in his throat. "Bucky!" he roared, spilled air from his wings, and swept down. Landing, Steve took the tents in his claws and flung them away.

Bucky's eyes slit open. "Steve," he said, dazed, then blinked, his pupils contracting in surprise. "Steve?" he said again. "Didn't you used to be smaller?"

"Some jerk went to war, left all the fat cows to me." Steve pulled at one of the thick chains strapping Bucky's neck down, and it tore from its stake in the rock.

The freedom seemed to give Bucky new life. He gave a full body shudder and strained to rise. "James?" he rasped. "Where's my captain?"

"Peggy's gone to get him. He'll be here soon." He was certain of it. Peggy cared for Captain Barnes just as much as he for Bucky.

Steve tore away the thick manacles encasing Bucky's claws next. But the second Bucky was able to rise, he reached up and yanked the tubes in his neck free.

"Be careful!" Steve yelped, horrified, but Bucky just swung his head in a negative. The points where the tubes entered under his scales bled sluggishly.

"It's fine."

"Can you fly?" Steve asked.

"Seems like I asked you that once." But Bucky spread his wings, showing his willingness to try. And if he was a little wobbly in the air, he was at least able enough.

Back at the prison grounds, chaos had broken loose. Guards were trying, and failing, to contain the newly freed dragons. There were sounds of gunfire coming from the castle. As Steve and Bucky landed, the front entrance opened. Peggy came dashing out, an army of captive captains at her heels.

Bucky made a low, half-crooning, half-warbling sound as James Barnes staggered into view, and rushed over to him. 

Steve didn't see their reunion; Peggy had run straight to Steve, fire in her eyes.

"Schmitt is escaping!" she said, and pointed.

Sure enough, the great red beast had taken to the sky with a man astride his neck. The netting under Red Skull's belly was filled with what looked like bombs, only with oddly glowing blue tips.

"What are those?" Bucky asked, spotting them as well.

"He means to fly Red Skull to America by way of the north pole." James' voice was grim. He looked terrible, too, like he'd lost weight while kept captive. "It was all there in the map room. He means to bomb the entire eastern seaboard!"

"Can it be done?" Steve asked, but Red Skull was beating into the sky, his blood red wingspan every bit the length of Steve's wings.

Steve looked at Peggy, and understanding passed between them. She nodded, turned, and pressed her lips against Barnes' in that way that human mates did with one another.

Then she leapt into Steve's waiting claws, and swung up onto his neck.

"What the devil are you doing?" James demanded. "Peggy, you can't go after him. He has the Tesseract--"

Steve had no idea what a Tesseract was, but suspected it had something to do with the new-fangled looking bombs.

"We're the only ones who stand between him and the entire Eastern seaboard," she said and tossed a devil may care smile back down at Barnes. "We'll be back shortly."

"Not without us, you ain't." Bucky shouldered Steve hard -- though Steve had two thirds the weight of him now, it did make him stagger a little. "You're not leaving without us."

Steve looked in despair at Bucky, who still had streaks of blood along his neck, and who's scales had been crushed at the point where the tight chains had bound him.

"Someone needs to stay and help organize the escape," Steve said.

Bucky snorted. "Trust me, I know these dragons. They'll be fine."

Another burst of flame boomed in the distance as if to punctuate his statement.  

Barnes swung up onto Bucky. "The longer we wait, the further away they get, Peg."

"Damn you, James," Peggy swore, and Steve knew the argument was lost. Barnes must have, too, for he flashed a grin at her.

Then Peggy gave the signal to Steve to take to the air. He leapt; Bucky followed.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, much of the battle would be a blur in Steve's memory.

The chase itself was hideously long -- lasting the good part of a day and night. With Peggy's urging, Steve put on all due speed, but the Red Skull was a strong beast and managed to keep just ahead.

Steve pulled out every trick of flight he had collected since he'd become strong. He took whatever advantage he could from the wind, turned his wings to every small updraft and thermal -- though there were few enough of those, because the Red Skull, led by Johann Schmidt, were turned straight north to the icy reaches.

Steve hadn't really gotten to see all of America, though he could easily picture it well enough if Red Skull managed to drop those bombs; The Brooklyn covet up in flames.

Putting his head down, he poured more effort into every wing-beat.

Bucky was keeping up, though Steve could not understand how. He rode in Steve's draft, but even then as a middleweight who'd been starved and tortured, it should have been impossible to stay aloft so long. But somehow he did. He was pure grit. Whenever Steve happened to look back to catch a glimpse of him, Bucky's expression was determined and grim, as if he planned to pay back every pound of flesh he and the other dragons had lost in that hell hole.

They finally manage to catch up to Red Skull just as a fierce storm closed in. The clouds had been billowing ahead for hours, cold and dark, and the ground below had become sheets of ice and sea.

At times the sky up ahead was so dark they looked like the ground, making it as if the entire world had flipped upside-down.

Schmidt, the coward, opened fire with some kind of energy weapon as soon as Steve came within range.

Bucky yelled a warning, and Steve ducked into a dive, losing a little bit of speed.

"I'll take high!" Bucky called, and Steve nodded, pumping his wings to recover the momentum he'd lost.

Two targets split Schmidt's attention. He fired at both, but could not concentrate on either. Steve was the first to close.

Red Skull bellowed in rage as Steve struck him, and Steve expected him to be slow and tired from the amount of bombs attached to him. He wasn't. He whipped around, slashing at Steve with long, deadly claws.

Steve roared and bit down, hoping for any advantage his mildly venomous saliva gave him.

He didn't notice at first. Peggy didn't yell a warning, but out of the corner of his eye he caught Peggy leap from Steve's harness to the Red Skull's back, dagger between her teeth.  She started climbing up the rigging towards Schmidt.

Meanwhile, Bucky stayed just out of range, Captain Barnes firing his gun at Schmidt and keeping him as distracted as possible.

Steve and Red Skull slashed at each other as they fought mid-air. Steve deliberately fouled Red Skull's wings with his own, and they lost altitude fast. Red Skull was no slouch, and his claws were razor sharp. Steve knew he was injured, slashed in half a dozen places, but his blood was up.  It didn't matter. His captain was aboard Red Skull, and nothing would make him disengage.

So Steve folded his wings, knowing he was a heavy dragon and the added weight along with the bombs would be too much. He shoved one forearm through Red Skull's rigging, and took his lumps, dragging him down.

The Red Skull made a high, startled noise that could have been funny in other circumstances, and tried to break off the fight to gain height. It was no use.

Steve caught flashes -- Schmidt and Peggy fighting hand to hand, guns going off. And the fierce storm wind whipping them both around.

Bucky yelled something -- but his voice was dragged away by air, thick with frozen snow and lightning.

And the sky was so close he felt like he could reach out and grab it -- No, the lightness wasn't the sky. It was the snow. It was closer than Steve had imagined. Then he realized _what_ Bucky was screaming.

Schmidt fell, limp off the Red Skull's back. Red Skull screamed again, a horrible sound, and turned his anger fully on Steve. Tearing at him. There would be no getting away from him now. They were falling out of control.

Steve ripped away just enough to extend his wings, but only one worked; searing pain rippled up his left, and threw them into a spin.

Bucky -- he would never know exactly how -- darted in time to snatch Peggy off Red Skull's back. Steve had one good look at the ground; the snow covered ice, so close.

He closed his eyes.

He hit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cold water seemed to stab right through him, crush all the air out of his air-sacks, all the breath he'd gained since he got strong, gone.

There was a weight pulling him down. Steve shoved, bit, clawed at something, and the Red Skull let him go.

For a moment, Steve didn't know which way was up. He was underwater. The sky was again above him, and he aimed for the bright spot and hoped he was swimming up, not down.

He broke surface and took a deep lungful of air that seemed to do nothing for him. Clawing, coughing, he started to pull himself out of the hole in the ice, but his strength failed him halfway. He lay there, his neck stretched out, gasping for breath.

A burst of sable and brown, and Bucky landed next to him.

"Hold on," Bucky yelled. He sunk his claws into the remains of Steve's harness and heaved. Barnes jumped down into the cracking ice to direct, but even then the freezing water still seemed to drag Steve down. Steve could barely breathe for the cold.

Peggy joined Barnes's side -- despite the fight, she looked well, although she held one arm at an angle to her chest.

"That's it, dearest," she said as Bucky heaved.

The wind howled at ground level, and seemed to cut straight through scales and saw into the bone. And Steve was exhausted. He shut his eyes, wishing they'd let him rest for a moment.

Then Peggy was at his muzzle. "My dearest, oh my brave, lovely dragon. You've done so well, but you can't stay like this... Steve... Steve, are you listening? You must rise."

Steve tried to reply, but his teeth chattered too hard. He could barely feel her hands on his muzzle. Focusing was an effort, and it was with a start he realized there were tears running down Peggy's cheeks -- tears that were freezing halfway down.

Bucky pulled at his harness again, and this time Steve forced himself to make an effort. It hurt beyond telling, and it was less than graceful, but finally he was free of the water and flopped, weakly, on the ice.

"Can you fly?" Bucky asked. He bumped him on the side. Steve realized he'd been drifting. For a moment he was a hatchling again, back when Bucky had asked the same thing.

"Of course I can." But his words sounded slurred. And when he extended his wings, they were hideously heavy. Coated with ice. He was too shaky and weak to hold them up.

Barnes and Peggy exchanged a look that Steve could not read, and Peggy bit her lip in a way she did only when she was upset.

"Try to flap," Bucky advised, "Knock the worst of that ice off."

Steve did -- or tried. Fire raced up one shoulder. When he turned his head to look, there were deep gouges dug down the length of his back by Red Skull's claws, the flesh crusty with blood turned to ice.

"Peggy?" he warbled. He should have been startled, but he was so tired.

She was shivering, and her lips had gone pale. Almost blue. "You must keep moving, dearest. I know it's difficult, but you'll freeze otherwise."

"I'll help," Bucky said, coming to his side and nudging him hard. "Up and at 'em."

But it was no use. Steve could barely rise to his feet, much less take to the air.

Peggy was crying in earnest now, and ice was beginning to collect on Bucky scales, too, and at the ends of Peggy eyelashes. The arctic storm was closing in, and if they stayed, they would die. One and all.

"I can't... J-just... Just go," he gasped.

"Nonsense, get up, Steve!" Peggy's voice held a sharpness she'd never used with him before.

"Bucky," he pleaded, looking to him.

"You're outta your mind if you think--"

"You have to," Steve said. "The cold's gone into my bones."

"Maybe we could--"

"Please," Steve dragged in a shuddering breath. "Save her."

"No!" Peggy cried again.

Captain Barnes's face was gray, or perhaps it was the ice collected in his stubble. He put his hand on Peggy shoulder, and she whirled to strike at him with her good arm.

"No! I shan't leave him--"

"Peggy… I just need to rest a while," Steve said. "I'll--I'll join you later." It was a lie, but it was all he could manage. Even Bucky had stopped pushing at him, and instead was huddled by his own captain, looking grim and miserable.

Barnes said, "Peggy, if the storm keeps on, Bucky won't be able to lift into the air either."

Steve half expected Peggy to tell him to leave without her. Before she could, Steve said quietly, "Please. It's what I want."

The look on Peggy's face was terrible, but she had not become captain without having to make hard choices "I'll be back. We're coming back."

Steve nodded.

"Soon as the storm breaks," Bucky promised.

Peggy wrapped her good arm around Steve's muzzle once more. The last time. "I've asked too much of you," she said.

"No," he said. "Never."

She lingered with him for a long moment, and Steve was half-terrified of her leaving, and half that she would change her mind and stay. But finally, with one last tearful look, she pulled away and boarded Bucky.

She called something as he leapt into the air, but the wind ripped it away. Then they were gone.

Steve was alone, truly, for the first time in his life.

He knew he should be cold, be scared. But the only fear he felt was for Peggy. And now she was safe, how could he be afraid?

No one told him that freezing to death was as easy as falling asleep. Steve sank down, closing his large wings about himself; wings, which had been such a hindrance when he was younger. They were large enough to shield him from the stinging wind completely.

He had enough presence of mind to be grateful he wasn't in any more pain. Then there was nothing.

 

 


	4. Part IV: Dragon Out of Time

 

Steve blinked awake, and for a moment he thought he was back in Brooklyn covert. He was a hatchling again and the war, the dragon prison, the fight with Red Skull, had all been a dream.

But no... it wasn't. It had been real and, impossibly, he was warm again. Where was he?

"Peggy?" he rasped, but his mouth was bone-dry. Inhaling, he caught the scent of water not a few feet from his nose. Someone had set up a deep trough, and he dipped his head and drank gratefully.

His vision cleared, and Steve became aware he was the subject of intense scrutiny from an entire group of people who stood not far away, some with clipboards in their hands. He was indoors -- inside a concrete and metal cavernous warehouse at least four stories tall. The doors, he noted, were barred shut against him leaving.

There were no other dragons in sight, so he focused again on the group of people. One, a black male, stood apart and more forward than the rest. Probably the leader, then.

"Where am I?" Steve asked him. "Where's my captain?"   

The man stepped forward. "My name is director Fury," he said. "As for the rest... You're back home, on a government owned island outside New York. Admiral Carter has been alerted of your recovery, and is being transported. She should be here, tomorrow."

"... Admiral?" Steve repeated. So the brass hadn't struck Peggy from the service after all. Thank goodness.

Fury nodded, hands clasped behind his back. "You've been asleep for a long time, Steve. We think it was a sort of hibernation."

Steve blinked then looked back over his shoulder. The deep gouges made by Red Skull's claws were gone, the scales grown back smooth and whole without even a scar. "How long?" 

"Just under seventy years."

 

* * *

 

Steve didn't believe Fury at first. It was... insane. Impossible. Heavyweight dragons typically lived several centuries, but even with seventy years passed, he was still as young and fit as he'd been when he went down into the ice.

Fury explained that they'd run a sample of Steve's DNA -- their new word for genetic code -- through their "computers" when he'd been discovered frozen, but alive. It was known his dam was a Long Wing, but his sire was a Nordic Jörmungandr. A rarely seen heavyweight that lived only in the frozen wastes. They routinely hibernated for decades, sometimes hundreds of years at a time, only waking to gorge and breed in unusually warm arctic summers.

Steve's weakness after falling into the ice hadn't been exhaustion and hyperthermia at all, only his body preparing for a long sleep.

"Will it happen again?" Steve asked, grudgingly accepting that this made a level of sense.

"We'll keep you inside during winter storms," Fury said dryly.

That was as good as a yes. Steve braced himself before he asked the next question. "And the war?"

"We won," Fury smiled slightly. "Thanks to you." 

Steve looked around at the closed warehouse, the group of strangers in front of him. Funny. It didn't feel like he'd won anything.

 

 

* * *

 

Hours later, a door opened from the side of the warehouse. Steve picked up his head and stared, confused. Two assistants were wheeling in an old lady upon a chair.

At first, Steve did not understand. Perhaps the lady was someone of importance -- she was wearing Admiral's pips.

"Steve," the lady said, gazing upon him with eyes filling with tears. "Why, look at you. You haven't aged a day."

It hit him like a physical blow. "Peggy?" he asked, uncertain. It was her eyes, but her hair had gone white with age, her skin as wrinkled as aged leather. But it was her. It was _her_.

"It's been so many years." Her voice was querulous. Old. "We looked for you for so long..."

"You... you did?" He wanted to push closer to her, but was afraid of tipping the wheelchair. She petted his nose with a dry, shaking hand.

"Everyone told me there was no way you could have... Oh, but I knew you'd find a way back to me. I knew it. James did, too."

"James?" Steve asked, brightening and looking around. "And Bucky? Are they here, too?"

But Peggy shook her head sadly. "They were both lost on a mission in the former Soviet Union, the winter of seventy-one. I'm sorry."

Maybe it was hearing it from Peggy's own lips, but it was the first bit of news since he woke up that felt real. The world seemed to spin around him, and he sat down. Hard.

"Dead," he said weakly.

She nodded, her lips turned down. "They lived a good life, Steve. And so did many others you rescued at the Azzano prison. Bucky sired many eggs, and James gave me two sons before... before the end."

Steve swallowed. He couldn't find any words.

She leaned forward in her chair. "I never captained another dragon, you know. Not even after they made me Admiral."

He looked at her, and although he knew it was selfish, the thought of her aboard another dragon was... unspeakable. Dragons were prone to possessiveness, he always heard. Though it seemed only natural to him that one should keep their own captain. "You didn't?"

Peggy smiled. She'd grown up an aviator, and she understood. "There was only one dragon for me, dearest."

"Maybe," he said, "You could again...?"

"I'm old, Steve. Much too old to fly -- you know they had to drive me here." She smiled again, a little wistfully. "But look at you, young and fit as a fiddle, I'd wager. You should take another captain when you're ready."

"No!" He recoiled. "Peggy, I couldn't."

"Well." She patted his nose again. "Think on it, at least. Things have changed with the corps -- they call it SHIELD, now. And I think they could use a brave, level headed dragon in their ranks."

Steve swung his head back and forth, distressed. Thankfully, Peggy dropped it.

They spoke of other things for the better part of an hour, people who Steve had known in the war and Brooklyn covert. The vast majority of them had gone on to live full, rich lives. Those who didn't, usually had died in the line of duty, like Barnes and Bucky.

And Steve asked more than once if Peggy might like to get out of the wheelchair and come fly with him. Perhaps she had been out of the air for so long she'd forgotten how wonderful it could be.

Then, unexpectedly, Peggy fell into a dry coughing fit. One of the assistants who had wheeled her over rushed up and offered a glass of water. Peggy smiled thanks at her, then looked up, blinking in surprise at Steve.

"Steve.. you've come back." She reached out a trembling hand. "It's been so many years..."

"But..." Steve started, confused. He was stopped by a headshake from the assistant.

It felt like his heart was breaking. 

"Of course I came back," he said, and cuddled as close to Peggy as he dared without danger of tipping the wheelchair. "You're my captain."

 

* * *

 

Fury finally let Steve out of the SHIELD warehouse and to the grounds a day later, with pointed hints that some would like to see him return to duty -- with a new captain -- soon.

Steve hardly heard him.

The sky seemed pale of color, smells not as vivid as they'd been before, and although it had been decades since he'd had a proper meal, Steve was uninterested in the herds of fat, grazing cattle.

Peggy couldn't be his captain anymore, and Steve found he didn't care much of anything this future world had to offer.

Finding a warm patch of stone, Steve curled up miserably. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine he was back in Brooklyn covet. He had no wish to be small and sickly again, but Bucky would have been with him, teaching him breathing techniques. And if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear Peggy's distant laughing as she conversed with Barnes...

He was so lost in his own thoughts he didn't notice anyone approaching until a dead sheep dropped in front of his nose. Blinking, he looked up to see a large, heavily built Regal Copper standing in front of him.

"Drax?" he asked in surprise. "Is that you?"

The other dragon was older than Steve remembered, thicker about the middle, but still well within his prime.

Drax rumbled an affirmative. "It is most gratifying to see you again, Steve."

"It... is?" They hadn't exactly parted on good terms.

"Indeed, you rescued my first captain from the prison in Azzano. And," he bent and nudged the carcass closer, "I believe I owe you a sheep."

Steve still wasn't hungry, but took it to be polite. "I didn't know Yondu had been imprisoned."

At this, Drax heaved a sigh and settled down next to Steve. Steve was a heavyweight in his own right, but Regal Coppers were nearly in a class of their own. Next to Drax, Steve felt small.

"It was a trying time," Drax admitted. "I was much relieved when it was over and we were able to rejoin the war. We had many happy decades together, after."

He had to swallow hard around a chunk of sheep, and the bitter jealousy that Drax had gone on to live a full life with _his_ captain. But that was unfair. "I'm glad," he said, and added to be polite, "Who is your captain now?"

"Peter Quill, a boy my Yondu raised."

"They are trying to get me to replace Peggy."

Drax made a noise of sympathy. "Do not think of it as a replacement -- no one can truly match your first. However," he stopped, dragging a claw through the dirt in thought. "It is in all dragon's nature to love and bond with the one who feeds us first. But what I have with Peter Quill is not the simple, pure love of a hatchling. Peter is different. He is my friend. He is... an equal."

That didn't help. "I miss her," he said miserably. 

"And you always will, but it will get better, Steve, with time. And," Drax nudged the half eaten sheep back to him. "With good food."

 

* * *

 

 

Drax left sometime afterwards, called away by his captain's second in command, a pretty lieutenant named Gamora. They had stopped by Brooklyn covert to switch out crew members, and Steve watched from afar as Drax took to the air, his crew completing harness maneuvers from several hundred feet up.

The sheep did not sit well with him, and Steve curled up in the sun wondering if some of the cold hadn't seeped away from him after all. Perhaps he dozed for awhile because when he next opened his eyes, the sun was setting into a purple and orange sky, and Howard Stark stood in front of him.

"How--?" Steve started, then caught himself. Howard -- no -- it wasn't him, but in the half-light it had been easy to make that mistake. "Who are you?"

The man's mouth twitched in a smile. He wore a goatee, though his dark hair was the same shade Howard's had been -- it matched his eyes. "Tony Stark. I'm the harness master around here -- and I'll spare you the angst, Howard was my father, and yes we look remarkably alike--"

"Only somewhat." Now that Steve was more awake, he could see more differences. Tony Stark was a little shorter, and there was something in his dark eyes that was both sharper and... gentler. Though that may have been the effect of the three young cadets clustered behind him.

As if on cue, Tony turned to introduce the kids.  "And these are all the "help" SHIELD allows me to outfit all their dragons with the latest and greatest. I call that one Butterfingers."

"I'm Miles Morales," the boy chirped, completely unconcerned.

"That one's You."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Kate Bishop."

"And Dummy."

Dummy, the youngest and smallest of them all, didn't even bother to correct the name. He was bent over a drawing of some sort, a pencil stuck in his mouth.

"I was trying to sleep," Steve said.

"So sleep," Tony replied. "Just stick out your wing a little like--yes, there we go. Butterfingers, get me the main lateral ligament measurements. You, take the--yeah. Okay, that works. No, Dummy, each wing has a slightly different proportion. They aren't symmetrical -- I swear to God I've told you that a hundred times. You outta just enroll in city college--"

He continued on in that vein, directing his three cadets to take measurements at different points all over Steve.

"He knows what he's doing?" he half-asked the girl, while Tony was busy inspecting the length and taper of Steve's tail.

"Of course he does!" she said, affronted on behalf of her teacher. "Mr. Stark's the best. He used to be an officer on Obadiah until--" She stopped and bit her lip, glancing behind herself to make sure no one was overhearing. "Well. There was an accident, and he's a harness master now, and he's the _best_ at it, ever. Even Fury says so."

"He does?" Steve asked, wryly. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Fury handing out praise.

"He might as well," she sniffed.

Tony Stark chose that moment to bustle over, a sheath of yellowed notes in his hand. "You're nearly exact to my father's nineteen forties measurements," he said. "Well, you've lost a little fat deposits, but considering your nap--"

"Hibernation," Steve grumbled.

"It's nothing you can't gain back," Tony said with a shrug. Then he seemed to notice the girl hanging around. "Don't you have calculations to run?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, Mr. Stark." She scampered off to join the boys.

Tony turned to Steve. "You know, they named a new breed after you."

"What?" He blinked.

"Yup. The Americana." Tony reached over and poked Steve's steel blue hide, then gestured upwards to the white star on Steve's chest. "Red, white, and blue."

Steve wasn't sure how he felt about that. He shifted back and forth, feeling uncomfortable. "But... I'm the only one."

Tony shrugged again. "So you'll sire a few eggs. The breeders--Bruce Banner, he's my science bro, has been practically drooling to backcross you to some Long Wings."

"I guess," Steve said doubtfully. But that only reminded him of the time the corps threatened to send him to the Maine breeding grounds, and how Peggy stepped into his defense.

It wasn't as if Steve was opposed to the idea in principle -- he was a young, healthy male, and if the Long Wing was pretty and had been in a lot of battles he would like to make an egg. But it brought up bad memories.

"Hey, no long face. No one's going to _make_ you meet a pretty lady dragon," Tony said. "Speaking of -- I hear they're bringing perspective captains to you tomorrow. Have him or her meet me afterwards so we can go over the results of your measurements. I have some idea for armor."

His captain. Steve let out a long huff that had the edge of a growl to it, abruptly sick to death of the idea. "And what if I don't want a captain?" he asked. "Maybe I just wanna be alone, ever think about that?"

He expected it to shock Tony, but he should have expected better of Howard Stark's son. Tony did blink, but then cocked his head to regard Steve anew. "Then don't accept one. What's Fury going to do about it?"

"Send me to the breeding grounds?" Steve said wryly.

But Tony just shook his head. "You? An American Icon?" He flapped a hand in dismissal. "That would be a waste, and Fury's a son of a bitch, but he won't waste good people. You'd probably just hang around here, train the younger dragons." He slapped Steve companionably on the side of the leg, and Steve wondered if the same thing had happened to Tony -- if that was why he was teaching three cadets.

"That doesn't sound so bad, but I'd rather be fighting and helping people," Steve said. 

He didn't think it was his imagination. Tony's smile was a little wistful, and he patted Steve's leg again -- softer, this time. "Remember, big guy: The only one who can make anyone do what he doesn't want, is you."

 

* * *

 

 

Steve thought about Tony's words all night. He rose before the sun fully dawned and flew long circuits around SHIELD covet until his sides were steaming. He made himself eat another sheep, but when he landed afterwards, his heart sank.

 Fury was there, clearly waiting for him. There were three polished aviators standing by his side, all in uniform, all looking hopeful and expectant.

"Steve," Fury said, "I want you to meet these three officers. All of them have shown exceptional valor in combat."

"I'm sure," Steve said, "but if this is about choosing a captain, I don't--"

Fury continued as if he hadn't spoken. "This is Sharon Carter, First Lieutenant on Falcon--"

"I'm sorry," Steve said, shaking his head. His throat felt tight in a way it hadn't since his airsacks had finally inflated. "I know you're all very qualified and... you're all lovely, I'm sure. But I don't... I'm not ready."

"You must have a captain if you wish to serve. You can have your pick."

For a moment, Steve was tempted to say "You" out of spite and make himself Fury's problem. But that would've been a decision based on anger, and he didn't want to live his life based off of it.

He listened, trying not to curl up on himself Fury continued introducing the new perspective captains. Carter, who was Peggy's grandniece--she even had Peggy's looks around her eyes and it hurt Steve to see it, Hill, Fury's own second in command, and the male agent named Sitwell. Steve supposed they thought he'd tend towards another female captain, and they are nice enough--but no true replacement. He didn't _want_ a replacement.

"I don't want any of them," he said, hoping none had spent their right to promotion for this opportunity, but knowing they probably had.

"Steve," Fury said patiently. "Think carefully about this."

From the corner of his eye, Steve saw one of the maintenance teams dragging out a harness--glossy black with wickedly sharp points. It wasn't for him. Too small.

But Tony Stark was at the front of the group, clipboard in hand, and directing them like a demented orchestra conductor.

An idea caught Steve's attention, and once he considered it, the decision was very clear. He didn't know Tony Stark well, but he hadn't known Peggy at first, either. But there was an... attraction, there. A gut feeling that he and Tony could be good together.

"Steve, are you listening to--"

"Him. I'll take Stark as my captain."

Fury stared at him for a second, and then whirled to where Steve was looking. "Tony Stark? The harness master? You can't have him."

Steve swelled. "You said I could have my pick."

"Of qualified applicants!" Hill snapped, her cheeks flaming. Carter, he noted, remained dignified and silent. Sitwell, he couldn't read at all.

Fury, too, seemed to be considering something. Striding some distance away, he directed Sitwell to bring Tony over. Steve knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help overhear Fury demanding, "Stark, did you put him up to this?"

"Probably," Tony said, shrugging. "But who are we talking about?"

"What did you promise him?" Fury demanded.

"Promise who what?"

He'd heard enough. "Nothing." Steve snaked his head over, not liking the aggressive stance Fury was taking to Tony.

Tony looked from Steve to Fury and back again. "Is this about the new harness? What, do you want a date when it's completed? You know genius can't be rushed-"

"He wants you as his captain."

Tony actually took a step back, like he'd been struck. His brown eyes snapped to Steve, and Steve could see amazement as well as shock. He knew he should have asked before but…

"--Which isn't going to happen," Fury continued.

"Why?" Steve asked. "He's served as an officer on Obadiah."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Have my cadets been telling tales?"

"Stark," Fury growled. "He needs to see why you can't serve."

"This isn't show and tell, Fury." But Tony was unbuttoning his shirt, opening it to show a disk of blue-white light lodged into the center of his chest.

Steve lowered his head to examine it -- the jewel-like outer ring was quite pretty, if one ignored the thick scarring around the device. "What is it?"

"An electromagnet of my own design--"

Fury cut him off. "He's on the 4F list. Shrapnel, too close to his heart. If anything were to dislodge the mechanism--"

Tony abruptly closed his shirt. "Know what? Yes, I'll do it. I'll be a captain."

Fury turn to him. "Excuse me?"

"I'd like to try, at least, and it's my decision. Well, Steve's." Tony squared his shoulders. "This," he tapped his knuckles against the device in his chest. It made a ting sound. "Is under control. I made it. I should know. That is," he added, looking up at Steve, "if you'll chance it."

"Someone took a chance on me once," Steve said. He brought his muzzle closer. "It worked out."

A wondering expression crossed Tony's face. He reached out and carefully placed the flat of his hand against the soft tip of Steve's nose.

Fury threw his hands in the air, apparently knowing when the battle was lost.

"Well, then congratulations, Captain Stark," he said , then added in nothing less than a low threatening growl, "I'll expect great things from you both."

 

~ Fin ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be a sequel in the future if I can ever think of an appropriate plot for Dragon!Steve and Captain Stark. Meanwhile, thank you for reading. :)
> 
> If you wanna keep up with my random updates, my fic-only Tumblr is here: http://stevetonybuckysammich.tumblr.com/


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